Encounters
by NeverDreamsOfMe
Summary: A oneshot series exploring encounters between Organization XIII and the characters of SoulCalibur III. Chapter 4: "I am a scientist, like yourself," he explains. "And, also like you, I am wondering whether it's possible to construct a missing piece of myself. Yet – again, like you – I have no idea what parts create the sum of that missing piece."
1. Chapter 1: Superior of the In-Between

Long time no upload, eh? XD Sorry about that. Here's something that's been in my head since like Christmas. Enjoy!

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Silence strangles the forest. A stranger walks among the trees. A long black coat obscures his face, swishes over the leaves. He walks quickly, in a hurry.

After a time, he comes to the edge of a cliff. Though the trees have thinned here, he makes no move to hide himself. He merely stops and fixes his gaze on the plain below.

A thousand men are gathered there, fully armed under brave banners unfurling in the breeze. They stand in a circle, scores of soldiers deep, surrounding a lone figure in the center. A battle cry sounds from the crowd, and the first rank rushes the figure in the middle. The stranger on the cliff leans forward, precariously close to the edge, a hunger in his golden eyes.

They don't stand a chance. The figure in the center whips its arm around, and an impossibly large sword follows, more of a claymore than anything. The awestruck appetite in his eyes grows as he watches the men drop like flies. In waves, the remaining soldiers attack, and in waves they fall. Some of the weaker-willed men at the back turn and flee, and the stranger snorts contemptuously.

A short time later, the entire force lies dead at the lone figure's feet. The stranger disappears into a hole of darkness. A similar hole materializes at the base of the cliff, and the stranger appears out of the darkness falling away. Now he can see the figure much better, even though he looks at its back. _It's true,_ he thinks with a thrill. The armor was blue as a cold sapphire. It glints in the sun, the same way the stranger's golden eyes do.

Despite having just slain an army, the figure in the blue armor betrays no sign of tiredness. As the last soldier falls, he raises his arms to the sky. With his feet planted wide apart and his massive sword pointed to the sky, he makes a victorious triangle, silhouetted against the settling dust.

But wait! The wind has picked up, so strong it whips the stranger's cloak. The dust seems to be gathering around the figure in the blue armor. It creates a vortex, a tornado, and now an energy is swirling in the funnel. Up and up, around and around again the energy goes, straight into the sword itself, into a point the stranger behind cannot see. A bright white light flashes suddenly, and when it dims, the landscape once again is still. Only the figure in the blue armor stirs. He had stumbled forward and is now leaning on the great sword, body heaving as if breathing heavily. Even so, he still doesn't look exhauster; on the contrary, a new vitality somehow fills him.

"Incredible," the stranger murmurs.

The figure in the blue armor whirls around. He seemed to have heard the stranger clearly even though a hundred yards separate them. Cold red eyes shoot daggers at the stranger through the visor in his helmet. If looks alone could kill, it was no wonder so many knights had deserted.

The stranger was not deterred. Fascination spurns him forward. "All the tales," he continues softly, "of terror, the sword, even the armor, they're all true."

"Do you wish to die that badly?" The figure in the blue armor interrupts. His voice is guttural, rasping, menacing. "I shall devour your soul as easily as all the others-,"

Still the stranger goes on, as if he hadn't heard, "You harvest souls as I do hearts; we have the same tireless, unquenchable thirst. If only I could harness your power-,"

"I am no one's to command," spits the figure in the blue armor, "especially not by a man such as you!"

The stranger had stopped ten yards from the figure, just out of reach of that sword. "But that's just it. You're not a man," here, he pauses to push back his hood, "and neither am I." Red and gold eyes meet each other's gaze in amazement.

"How do you know what I am?" Nightmare demands. "You're nothing but a worm, a nobody-,"

"Exactly," Xemnas chuckles, "I am a being without a heart, merely an empty shell, a Nobody. I need a heart to complete myself, so I am building my Kingdom Hearts…" his voice trails off in longing.

"Enough of this!" Nightmare snarls in frustration. Talk is nothing, and you are nothing, and I shall obliterate you!" He rushes forward, bringing the sword up and over his head to strike this meaningless scum down –

Clang! His sword stops suddenly, jarring his shoulder. Xemnas had summoned his own ethereal blades at the last second, stopping the Azure Knight's sword inches from his face. Nightmare blinks; he hadn't expected resistance.

"You're right again," Xemnas purrs, "I am nothing, so there really is no point in killing me. I won't release a soul; I don't have one."

"You lie!" Nightmare shrieks.

"Why are you so desperate for souls?" Xemnas' voice quiets in contrast, "What are you building with them?"

Nightmare goes silent. They stare each other down. The pressure on Xemnas' arms increases, then lifts as Nightmare lowers his sword. He turns the flat side up to Xemnas. A great, lidless, swiveling eye stares up at him, but he isn't repulsed. He leans closer, the hungry look back in his eyes.

"Soul Edge," Nightmare explains, "is not whole. Always it hungers for more souls. Souls give strength. And once it's complete-,"

"It will be the strongest force on this earth," Xemnas finishes reverently. He reaches out, as if to touch the eye, but stops himself.

Nightmare becomes uncomfortable. What possessed him to tell this man of his secret? _Now we must be rid of him, _Soul Edge whispers, _and we'll really see if he has a soul._ Nightmare jerks his arm up, intent on cutting the stranger in half, groin to skull.

Again Xemnas summons his blades, this time pushing down on the sword.

"I told you there's nothing to gain from killing me," he says, amused and malevolent.

"But now you know too much!" growls Nightmare.

"Oh no. I don't know nearly enough. But I will. Once you unleash that sword's full power, I shall take it back to my world. I shall complete Kingdom Hearts with it, and I shall rule all." He swipes at Nightmare's face, who stumbles backward. By the time he recovers himself, Xemnas' smirking face is swallowed by a dark portal.

As if shaking off an irritating fly, Nightmare shrugs. He'd deal with the man if he came back. But for now, he needed more souls.

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Hmm. Slightly OOC maybe? Ah well. Reviews are greatly appreciated, thank you!


	2. Chapter 2: The Freeshooter

No classes today so this was a reward for getting all my work done :3 Enjoy!

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Lightning crackles in the sky; the consequent thunder booms so loud that sound becomes a physical presence. The wind whips the rain around, raising the ocean waves to unimagined heights. The whole world feels full of water and shifting shadows, especially on the pirate ship struggling to survive at sea. The crew scurries across the deck, screaming orders at each other, spluttering seawater out of their mouths as it crashes over the ship.

Only one person could have been considered calm, and he wasn't even a person. The stranger hangs upside down, suspended in the air beneath the crow's nest. His black coat blends in with the stormy sky, rendering him quite invisible. The only thing that might have been seem was his face: a pale orb lit up in a quick flash of lightning.

When the time is right, the stranger falls, turning a somersault in midair so he lands catlike on deck in front of the cabin. Quick as the lightning flashing in the sky, he slips inside.

After the noise outside, the cabin is quiet and still. Lantern light casts a dim but steady light over the jumble of maps on the desk, wine bottle and goblet on the table, the surprisingly made bed. Directly across from the stranger at the door stands the captain. His hands are clasped behind his back, turned to the stranger, as he gazes out the window to watch the storm.

Hardly believing it could be so easy, the stranger raises his weapon and points it at the captain.

"You could try," came the captain's gruff voice, "Doubt it would do anything."

"As if," snorts the stranger, "These things have killed stuff more impressive than you."

"Perhaps," the captain agrees, "but have you ever killed an immortal?" He whirls around, unsheathing a sword at his hip. He holds it up, pointed not at the stranger but at the ceiling, and fires the pistol concealed inside.

The stranger grins, his form flickering, and disappears. The bullet whizzed through the space where his heart would have been, and lodged itself in the door. A split second later, he reappeared in the same spot, wearing the same smirk.

"Are all your bullets that slow? Jeez, how do you manage to hit anything?" the stranger demands, shaking his head in disbelief. The motion caused his hood to fall off.

"If they be so slow, ye were pretty quick to duck. Yer not so immortal, are yeh?" Cervantes sneers, studying the stranger. He could have been a member of Cervantes' own crew. The stranger wore his black and grey streaked hair back in a long ponytail, his face slashed with a scar, and an eyepatch over his right eye. The left eye glistens gold with a mixture of contempt and amusement.

"Immortal? As if," Xigbar snorts again. He summons the second arrowgun in his left hand and lifts it up, placing it behind his head, pointing the gun in his right hand at the pirate. "Nothing is truly immortal. Just changes from one form to another. I'm proof of that." He grins ironically, "Then again, that's coming from the one who's not supposed to be here."

"I've had enough o' yer riddles, stranger," Cervantes growls, also producing a second weapon: another sword, but appearing to be made of raw flesh instead of steel. "Just tell me what yer here for and I may let you live a little longer."

"That," Xigbar says simply, gesturing to the flesh-sword.

Cervantes bursts out laughing, "You be barkin' up the wrong tree, boy. This is just a piece of Soul Edge, a growth. Not even whole. It needs to be reunited with Soul Edge to regain it's full power. Though," he adds thoughtfully, while adopting a fighting stance, "yer soul might do nicely for strengthenin'."

"I don't even have a heart," Xigbar says, steadying the gun in his right hand, "What makes you think I've got a soul?"

Cervantes chuckles, "I sold my soul for immortality, and my heart's still beatin'. Somethin' in there's keepin' you alive-,"

"So you do have a heart," mutters Xigbar, "Interesting."

Hating the interruption, Cervantes finishes by shouting, "An' I'm gonna find out what!" He flies at the figure in the black coat, bearing both swords down on him in an X formation.

Casually, Xigbar blocks the blow mere inches from his scarred face and points the gun in his left hand at Cervantes' temple. The pirate freezes, narrowing his eyes at the stranger. Xigbar glares right back. Neither moves an inch.

"What're ya waitin' fer?" Cervantes asks softly. "Do it. Try an' finish me off."

"As fun as that would be," Xigbar murmurs," And as useful – we could use your Heartless and Nobody – I think it would be more useful not to." He removes his gun from Cervantes' head, and the pirate steps back reluctantly.

"What's all this 'Heartless and Nobody' nonsense?" Cervantes demands.

"Doesn't matter," Xigbar deflects, "You're going to lead us right to Soul Edge."

"Ye'll never touch it," Cervantes snarls, "That sword will give me the power to rule the Seven Seas!" He gasps as Xigbar's gun snaps up and points straight between his eyes. He takes a look at Xigbar's face and smirks, "Annoyed, are ye? Yeh need me, and yeh hate it. S'only yer conscience keepin' you from killin' me."

"Conscience? As if!" In an instant, his gun is lowered, his form wavers again, and he vanishes into a hole of darkness.

Cervantes snorts to himself. _Mangy cur._ Let him try and take Soul Edge! Cervantes would shoot him, and anyone else dead before they got close.

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As I recall, this chapter was pretty easy XD Xiggy's fun to write. Reviews are much appreciated; stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3: The Whirlwind Lancer

Sorry for the late update! School was a killer last week. Enjoy!

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Golden sunlight warms the mountains and the tiny village nestled between them. A light breeze plays through the valley, weaves through the peaks, rustling the ancient pines. It fans out the hem of the stranger's cloak as he stands on the mountain itself, on the edge of a precipice over the village. He reaches a gloved hand up to keep his hood from blowing off. He will not reveal himself. He wards the wind away with a wave of his hand. A falling vortex of darkness envelops him, hem to hood, and he disappears.

An identical dark portal materializes atop a house in the village and falls away from the stranger. He leans forward to peer into the courtyard below. His quarry, a young priestess, bends over a small child laying on a cot against the opposite wall. Her back is to him, but if the child looked up, the stranger might be spotted. Small chance of that. The child, weak and frightened, struggles a little as the priestess places her hands on his chest. She speaks soothingly to him, words the stranger cannot catch, and the child relaxes. The stranger stands upwind of the pair of youths, and it picks up again, playfully trying to remove his hood. Irritably, he passes his hand again to keep the wind away.

The priestess speaks again, with the steadiness of a chant. A holy light gathers around her, gentle and white. The stranger leans forward, his fascination nearly pulling him off the roof. The light seemed strangest at her hands, where she pressed them into the child's chest. After a moment, the gray pallor in the child's face fades into color, and a look of deep peace descends over him. His eyes close as the priestess withdraws, the light dimming, and his breath comes slow and deep as if in sleep. She sits back on her heels and gazes down at the child.

"Amazing," whispers the stranger, also leaning back, away from the edge of the roof.

As if she heard, the priestess spins around and stares at the chimney the stranger was hiding behind. He curses and withdraws into a dark corridor. He reappears on the outskirts of the village, near the waterfall. _Stupid! Sloppy!_ He scolds himself, before the slapping of sandaled feet stops his thoughts. Growling, knowing his cover is blown, he whirls to defend himself, summoning his six lances.

The priestess skids to a halt on the opposite side of the platform. She stares at him with wary brown eyes. Reluctantly, she raises her tonfa, gazing uneasily at the stranger's lances. The water from the falls is carried by the wind, swirling around them as they stare each other down.

"Wh-what are you?" she asks, voice shaking.

"Nothing – much," the stranger answers, smirking at his own joke.

"That's just it, though," she murmurs, almost to herself, "You're here but yet not here. The wind breaks around you yet I sense no life force."

"An empty shell stands before you," the stranger bows ironically. His hood falls as he straightens, revealing long, wildly dreadlocked black hair. His violet eyes are hooded by heavy eyebrows and framed by sideburns that throw his cheekbones into sharper relief. The effect is quite vicious. The girl gasps involuntarily and takes a step back.

"What are you doing here?" Talim asks, fighting to keep her voice from trembling.

"Seeing if you could really heal those corrupted by that sword you call 'Soul Edge.' And my observations were satisfactory." Xaldin regarded Talim as if she were beneath him. He was fully prepared to sneer when she asked why, but not all all ready for what she said next:

"Do you need healing, then?" Talim's voice was tight with pity, "Are you a product of the evil sword?"

The roaring waterfall drowned out Xaldin's laughter. "There's nothing to heal," he said, now looking at Talim with something like amusement. "So you'd be wasting your time. And no, I am not at all related to the sword. In fact, it may help me recover what I've lost."

"But the sword is evil!" cried Talim, "All it gives is destruction and despair!"

Xaldin rolled his eyes, "Always we try to distinguish between good and evil, but there's no such thing."

"But there has to be," insisted Talim, a stubborn set to her jaw, "The world can't all be gray."

Chuckling again, Xaldin said, "You're looking at someone who is, in fact 'all gray'."

Despite his frightening Cheshire Cat grin, and his unmistakable aura of malice, Talim lowered her tonfa. A pity was twisting in her heart for this man. "What did you lose that you're so desperate to get back?"

Xaldin said nothing and, still smiling, stepped backwards into a dark portal. Talim started forward, but the darkness enveloped him, and he was gone.

The wind sighed in relief, but Talim did not. Sympathy still lingered for the mysterious man. After a while, she turned and made her way back to the village. There were people there who still needed her help.

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Yay Xaldin's my favorite X3 Please leave a review, darlings; I appreciate and respond to every single one! Stay tuned for the next update in 2 weeks!


	4. Chapter 4: The Chilly Academic

Here we are, on time this time :P Enjoy!

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The mansion looms above the landscape, a sprawling beast of wealth lounging and glittering in the sunlight. Verdant hills roll away in every direction, unbroken by neither tree line nor human dwelling. This modern monstrosity is the only thing in sight; plunked there seemingly randomly by the eccentric millionaire who had the money to have it built. Perhaps they had tired of the city, perhaps it was some new fashion, the new place for parties: quiet, picturesque, a place to gather and get lost in all at once.

At any rate, the hooded stranger standing at the end of the drive would never have warranted an invitation.

The mistress of the manor would not have heard the bell, even if one had been rung. She holds a flask up to her blue-green eyes and, squinting with concentration, raises another flask and tips. The liquid inside the second flask shifts, pulled by what would later be described as "gravity," about to drip into the first flask –

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Faster than a striking snake, she whips around and hurls both flasks in the direction of the voice. In a flurry of snowflakes, a shield appears in the stranger's arm, raised in a defensive position. The flasks freeze on impact and shatter. The liquid inside crackles at it splatters and freezes onto the shield.

"Damn you!" She spits, "Do you realize how much trouble I went through to get those?"

"Trouble you should have obviously remembered before you threw them," replies the stranger coolly, lowering his shield slightly. A pair of glittering ice-blue eyes is just visible beneath the heavy hood.

"You'll pay for this," she hisses. The sword at her belt separates into segments as she raises it above her head. A crack like a whip sounds as she brings it down, striking the floor mere inches from the stranger's feet. The expensive tile fractures, but the stranger doesn't flinch. An icy silence fills the room as the stranger in the hood and the woman with the whip-sword stare each other down.

The silence shatters when the stranger chuckles. "You're desperate."

"It's not exactly a laughing matter when you're trying to construct a soul," Ivy snaps.

"So that's what you've been up to," Vexen says, with the air of one who is not surprised but is trying to sound like it. He lowers his hood. His white-blonde hair almost glitters in the sunlight that streams from the window behind him, just as it glints off the spines of the books along the walls. "How very interesting. How does one construct a soul, exactly?"

"It's a learning process, one which you so rudely interrupted." Ivy deflects, narrowing her eyes at him. Those razor-sharp cheekbones and thin lips give his face a fox-like quality: condescending, calculating, and cunning.

"With good reason," Vexen replies indifferently, "These two rather unstable chemicals would have reacted to each other with a violent explosion. Really, if you're going to perform such experiments, you should invest in some-," he looks her up and down, taking in her scant and revealing clothing, "-more protective garments." He finishes with a sneer.

A growl rumbles in the back of Ivy's throat. "How would you presume to tell me what to do?" She demands.

"I am a scientist, like yourself," he explains. "And, also like you, I am wondering whether it's possible to construct a missing piece of myself. Yet – again, like you – I have no idea what parts create the sum of that missing piece."

"So why are you here, then, seeing as I know nothing?" Even as she says it, she unconsciously shifts to her left, towards the table she'd been working at. All her notes are here, right next to her, she can't let him get to them…

He catches her movement. His eyes flick to the notebook on the table at her hip. "Well, I didn't know that, did I?" he asks in a way that makes Ivy uncomfortable, as he looks straight into her eyes again. "Scientists learn from each other's experiments… and it seems this wasn't a fruitless journey after all." Vexen's lips twist into a cruel smile.

At this, Ivy loses her temper. He can't have her notes, he won't, too much depended on them. She raises her sword and strikes again, this time upon Vexen's shield. It freezes there, literally: ice crystals encase the first segment and then the next, growing up the sword towards the hilt. Ivy cries out as the cold burns through her gauntlet. She drops her sword, and it falls crackling on the floor. She stares at it in disbelief.

"You need to cool off," Vexen says, with a dangerous dispassion. "You can't expect to make any progress when your emotions get the best of you." As he speaks, a dark portal blossoms around him, swallowing all but his last words, whispered from nowhere.

Ivy blinks at his sudden disappearance, but is relieved too. She looks again at her frozen sword and sighs. It would thaw eventually, but this encounter had cost her precious time. Her life depended on this experiment: she would either succeed or die, and Ivy had too much to do to die yet. She turns back to her table of vials and beakers. Her missing soul won't construct itself.

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Ivy's not my favorite, but her and Vexen just went so perfectly together in my head I couldn't just not do it XD Please leave a review, don't be shy :3 Stay tuned for the next chapter in 2 weeks!


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